Nightmare 2
by RWBYRedReaper
Summary: Part 2 of my now-series of Nightmares. It's dark, maybe moreso than the first, so hang on to your hats. Gonna make it M, just to be safe. IF reviews are negative, it'll be discontinued or changed. If positive... you're in for the haul. As usual, though... read and review!


**A/N: Hello! Another fic from me! It's another darker one… but one I've thought about for a long time. Hopefully enjoyable (even if it is very dark)… So stick with it and it'll go… nice-ish. IDK. As usual, Read and Review!**

Hiccup's mind was a haze of pain.

Flashes of memories flashed and spiraled in his mind.

 _Toothless spitting fishes on his lap_

 _Yelling at the twins_

 _Fishlegs_

 _A black Dragon_

 _Toothless spitting fishes on his lap…_

The series of flashes played on repeat, getting faster and faster, the color draining as the pictures in his mind grew fuzzier, darker…

He awoke with a start.

With a small start, he realize he was in his own bed… no… not his bed.

It looked and felt the same, but was different. Something was off

He knew his room like the back of his hand. Every nook and nail. Every color and texture.

This was different. The wood was dark. Not ancient oak, which what was layered through the framework of the house. Darker wood. Like Walnut or Mahogany.

Yes. Definitely mahogany.

Hiccup froze. He liked to consider himself smart… but knowing different types of wood by look alone was beyond him. How did he know?

'Huh… I must be losing it. Maybe I was hit in the head by the Twins again?' He thought.

His thoughts were interrupted by a guttural cooing sound from a far shadowy corner.

"Toothless?" He called to the darkness.

His familiar black dragon leapt out of the pitch black, tackling him and knocking him to the floor.

Well… familiar and yet again unfamiliar. The Night Fury's scales were courser and ridged, his leather hide similarly harsh.

If he had an odd feeling before, it had now begun to tip into a bad feeling. But, decided once again to blame it on the Twins. Maybe they bonked him harder than usual this time?

He made to stand up, but stumbled at a new feeling in his leg. His fake leg.

"What the-?" He asked aloud, looking down.

His leg, usually consisting of a silver, wide metal C-cup hook, was definitely wrong.

It was black, thick, and nasty looking spike, sharpened to a dull point.

It felt wrong. Not painful, but… a foot-in-the-wrong-shoe wrong.

"Dad?" He called out. Now he wanted answers. Wood and rough scales were one thing, but a completely changed addition to his anatomy, albeit changeable, was something that caused worry.

His voice echoed unanswered however. He felt bad. Like looking-over-an-abyss bad… but once again told himself nothing was that wrong.

His dad must be out doing his job.

Yes.

That's right.

Then… why did it feel like he was trying to convince himself?

He inwardly analyzed reasons for his discomfort.

The wood and scales were weird because of a head injury. He'd had enough to know sometimes his senses were skewed by blows to the noggin.

His foot might have broken, and Gobber didn't have an immediate replacement, hence the nasty placeholder.

And finally, his dad was chief, and chiefs had a lot of work to do, and not always at home.

A loud booming sound echoed through the house, startling him.

He rushed downstairs, looking around at any more odd signs of change, but noticing very little.

Literally.

The house, which once was very cluttered was now nearly spotless.

Another loud knock forced him to put that information aside.

He pulled the door open, blinking in the sudden light, to a very unexpected, and unwelcome sight.

A large group of heavily armed soldiers stood there, weapons drawn and ready.

He leapt back with a shout, mentally readying himself for flight, or more likely, a nice fight.

'Wait… I don't fight if I can help it…' He thought, before the apparent leader of the armed Vikings spoke.

'Chief. We've finally apprehended the some of that band of miscreants. Well… both of them." He said, smiling darkly, "We got them tied up in your… interrogation room."

'Miscreants? Interrogation room? Chief?' He said, now very, very puzzled, and the nagging feeling of _wrong_ had returned in full force.

He opened his mouth to question the leader, but was surprised and sickened by what slipped from his lips without his bidding, "Hold them there. I'll be along to question them shortly. If you catch any of their friends trying to get them out, _kill them._ '

He clamped his mouth shut and followed the large Vikings out of his house, down a bleak looking road, past the main market, and was shocked and very much horrified by what he saw.

Instead of the usual wooden Viking memorial, which was decidedly very unthreatening, he saw a large stone statue of a very familiar figure: Himself.

"What in Hel's name is going on!?' He thought to himself frantically.

Not only was there a statue of himself, but he managed to catch his reflection in a nearby chrome shield.

Turns out it wasn't only his prosthetic leg that was changed. His features were weathered and scarred, and his hair… well let's say it was so brutal looking, even Dagur would have been impressed.

At the thought of Dagur, unwanted feelings of raged coursed through his system.

Before he had time to process this drastic horror, they neared the dragon arena… or what should have been the arena.

A large stone structure, windowless and roofed in rusting iron weapons stood there.

A small wooden door with the words 'Stay Out' written in smeared red lettering stood half open.

"'Ere you are, sir. They're alive, as you specified… maybe a bit worse for wear, though." The Viking soldier said, smirking darkly again.

Hiccup took slow steps, not wanting to know who was in the building.

Inevitably, he entered. The building was one big room with a bunch of tables lining the walls, with covered cages hanging from the ceiling.

A figure with a hood over its head sat at the only lighted table.

With growing horror, he forced himself forward.

He sat down, again forcing himself to move, lifting the hood off the head.

He stifled a scream, not wanting to alert his guards of his obvious horror, as he quickly recognized the person sitting before him.

A very badly beaten and emaciated looking Fishlegs.

His dark, bruised eyes glared at him with more rage and hurt than Hiccup had ever seen from the big lug.

He opened his mouth, revealing missing teeth, "Hello, **_Skitstövel._** **'**


End file.
